


Into the Woods

by lossie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lossie/pseuds/lossie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get complicated and feelings are at stake while Nemireth trades on the thin line between what’s right and wrong, all the while struggling with what her heart desires. Eventual Thranduil/OC, from pre-Hobbit to post-LOTR. Rating may change!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So it has all actually started with one scene (which will appear in one of the later chapters) and then other things happened (like Lee Pace with his pretty face). I admit that my knowledge of Tolkien's world is quite limited, because I've last read LOTR trilogy and The Hobbit years ago. I don't remember everything, but I can assure that I am thoughtfully researching everything I want to include in this story to make sure I won't butcher this. I'm actually really nervous, because it's my first dive into the world of Tolkien-inspired fanfiction and it's not easy to get it right.
> 
> That being said, I hope you will enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. For all it's worth I actually feel very strongly about the plot and my OCs, which admittedly doesn't happen every day.
> 
> There should be a chapter out at least twice a month, but if time allows me I will publish more frequently. Also, the translations for the actual Elvish words/phrases will always appear at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Have a nice read and when you're done, don't hesitate to favourite and review! Also, if you see any mistakes (grammar, spelling, content, etc.), please PM them to me so I can correct them (I don't particularly like having a beta reader, but I do appreciate help when it's needed).
> 
> Please don't eat me! ;)

"Nothing in this world happens without a reason. That we are all exactly where we are supposed to be, and that the pieces of the puzzle have a tendency to come together when you least expect it."  
–Jane Green

* * *

 

**PROLOGUE**

 

* * *

 

The air was damp and hazy with milky-white fog that has settled upon the lake like it tended to in the early hours of every morning. Though it was thick enough as to completely obscure the western shore of the Long Lake, the boat was close enough to Esgaroth and so its outline was visible, if only barely.

A sigh escaped her lips as her eyes stayed on what would disappear from her sight in a mere moment.

She had spend two months travelling to this very destination, hired by an older man, a scholar from Gondor, who longed to see the wonders of the world in his late years and who she had stumbled upon in one of the many cities of Rohan. He had been asking around for weeks, trying to find a guide that could help him pass the foreboding forests of what common people referred to as Mirkwood now. Though she had thought it rather unwise to attempt such a journey, she at least could safely say he was no fool, because, had he tried to brave the woods on his own, he would have perished within a few days time. He wasn't much of a warrior nor a traveller by any means. His skills, as she had learned very quickly, laid only in teachings of arts, history, and literature, but he was still a good companion. Although there were centuries in age between them, she felt like after spending so much time in the man's presence, she has learnt something, which wasn't an everyday occurrence.

Turning around in her seat, her eyes moved in the direction of the shore, where the Long Lake met with the Forest River. It was still hidden from sight, but since she could no longer see even a glimpse of Lake-town, it was much more useful to look where the boat was taking her rather than dwell into what has already passed.

The scholar had extended an invitation to visit him in his homeland, since he planned to return there in the upcoming months, but she highly doubted she would see him again. She had always thought it stupid to befriend mortals, for their lives were short and it only ever brought pain to those who would continue to live on after their passing.

Besides, there were still places in Middle Earth she haven't seen during her frequent travels and she planned to do so after paying Lord Elrond a short visit. She needed a moment of rest, but the lands over the Misty Mountains were beckoning her and she didn't plan to dwell in Rivendell for longer than necessary, though she suspected it wouldn't be the easiest feat for her to leave, as per usual. She wasn't a fair maiden who could spend years broidering away to pass her time and so the halls of Lord Elrond's house held little interest to her, but they were the only home she has ever known and every time she came back, she stayed for a bit longer. Homesickness wasn't just Men's malady after all.

In the times of peace there was no place for a she-warrior , because there were no armies that required her help. Idle hands suited her ill, so she has taken to work here and there for small payments. Being a guide provided her with the best income of them all, but she had also helped during many a harvest, healed the sick and wounded, and taught others how to fight.

The boat jostled to a sudden stop as it reached the wooden deck. She gathered her belongings – a sizeable bag, a bow and a quiver with arrows – and bid the rower farewell, jumping onto the deck with practised ease. He only waved at her dismissively, already pushing his boat away and on his merry way back home.

Long used to the strange ways of Men, she paid him no mind and proceeded onto the path, which would hopefully allow her to pass through Mirkwood undisturbed as she had done previously not so long ago. Back then she had decided to keep to the borders and stay away from both the open lands and the deep woods. There was darkness lurking in those places which she did not wish to disturb, but it was only part of the reason for the unusual approach she has taken to her many travels through this very forest.

Although not a threat to the Kingdom of the Wood Elves, she was not a welcomed guest either. Lord Elrond had warned her many times to avoid any dealings with elves of these lands if she could help it. They were not accustomed to strangers. Trespassing and being caught doing so could very easily get her killed, and she had no wish to die yet.

She dared one last look over her shoulder, trying to memorize the view of the Lonely Mountain, which appeared suspended in the air with the fog still obscuring the lands below with its thickness.

Then she turned back to the path and continued onwards, moving like the wind – quietly and with without hesitation.

 

-o-o-o-

 

Days moved by in silence as she travelled.

Along its eastern border the forest was still bustling with life. The trees were healthy here, their branches full with colourful leaves and some bending under the unyielding weight of fruits. When she looked close enough, she was able to see the spirits of the woods. They were like little bursts of light and quite playful, floating around her head and tugging at her hair. At the end of summer, they were already taking into the colours of the season, flickering about it various shades of red and orange.

Autumn was fast approaching and she could only be grateful that the nights were still those of summer, warm and light, since they made her journey much easier. As she laid down to rest when the sun hid behind the tightly-woven branches, the fae hid in the nooks of the trees to replenish their strength as well, only to awake once again in the morning and continue in their sprightly ways. She knew they would go into the winter sleep soon.

Would they be given a chance to come to life in spring once again or were they doomed to disappear one after the other with the passing of seasons like other magical beings before them?

She didn't want to know.

In the previous years she had braved Mirkwood in later months when the trees were bare of bloom and the air freezing cold, and she would probably never do it again. It was painful to witness what was already happening to it – how it was slowly withering away, consumed by sickness – but at least during summer and spring one could easily pretend that nothing was wrong. She was not a type to lie to herself, though it didn't change the fact that there was something lurking in the shadows, almost ready to bring back the hardships of war.

Being who she was, no one was willing to listen and consider her words. She had on multiple occasions attempted to warn Lord Elrond of what she had seen and felt during her travels, but he remained stubbornly deaf to her words. It was not for his lack of faith in her, though it mattered little in the end. He was afraid of what laid behind her tales and, if he decided to acknowledge that there was something to worry about indeed, it would mean that his sacrifices for peace during the Last Alliance of Elves and Men were, in the end, for naught.

A sudden movement nearby startled her. She packed her midday meal in haste and put it away into her bag. She then scalded the nearest tree, hiding in the foliage, high enough so that no one would be able to see her. Her fingers flexed against the hilt of one of the many throwing knives as she strained her ears to learn more about the approaching party.

It was not a sound which altered her, but a smell so foul, it made her gag, and it was getting more intense by second.

"Rutting flesh would surely smell nicer", she thought.

Nose wrinkled in disgust, she waited and her patience was soon rewarded when orcs, clad in heavy armour and carrying bulky swords, moved swiftly underneath her. They didn't notice her and she was grateful for it. Fighting against what looked like an entire battalion wasn't something she wished to do. Although her skills in combat were sufficient, since she had been training from an early age, she knew only death awaited those foolish enough to look for trouble.

When the last of the orcs were a safe distance away, she slowly lowered herself back to the soft forest soil. She waited for a short while, crouching between the trees, and then moved along, following the same path she had been for the last few days. Fear gripped her heart and there were no good spirits around anymore to make it go away. She would be safer there, as far from them as possible. Since the orcs had been marching to the north-west, she was fairly sure they wouldn't meet again.

" _Iuitho vegyl lîn_ _!_ "

Her eyes widened in shock when she heard the words, spoken loud enough for her to hear them clearly. The voice she had heard wasn't ragged and wheezy, like those of Orcs, but rather melodic and smooth. The phrase itself was Sindarin and she understood it well.

_Draw your swords!_

It was a calling to arms for unprepared warriors.

She stood stock-still, frozen in place by shock, looking in the direction where the troops she had encountered only moments ago had been marching. Her heart was beating frantically against her chest as she surveyed her surroundings, half-expecting an attack at any given moment.

There were elves out there, in the path of those rotten beasts. They would be attacked soon enough and slain like animals. In her mind she could see their bodies laying on the ground with their poor souls hovering over them like ghosts. The thought alone made her nauseous.

" _Gurth gothrim lye!_ "

Another battle cry echoed through the woods.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for her knives. She unsheathed them quickly and broke into a run in the direction from which the voice had come from. It didn't take her long to arrive at what could only be describe as a battlefield.

Metal clashed against metal in a cacophony of deafening sounds. An arrow whistled past the right side of her face, hitting one of the orcs in-between the eyes.

She ducked, in the last second avoiding a sword and then jumped onto the back of her opponent, bringing him death with one sure flick of her wrist. Another charged at her, but she managed to cut his throat open before he even had a chance to rise his weapon. For a short while she fought in close combat, both throwing the knives at the heads of those orcs who didn't have helmets and simply slashing throats as she went.

There was more of them than she had initially thought and it was clear the elves were at a disadvantage. Their light gear, suited for travel more than battle, gave almost no protection. While they were armed, it was clear they weren't expecting an ambush. The fact that most of them were sitting atop either horses or deer was one of not so many saving graces. She suspected they were simply on their way somewhere when the orcs appeared seemingly out of nowhere, attracted by the smell of elves.

She sheathed her knives and took a hold of the bow. In one fluid movement, she nocked an arrow and fired it into the skull of an orc who was half a breath away from decapitating an elf whose back has been turned. Arrow after arrow, blow after blow, she moved back and forth, bringing death to those who crossed her path and threatened the safety of elves. Her arms grew weary and tired, but she struck with precision and unwavering determination, praying to whoever was willing to listen to give her just a bit more strength, so she could survive it. There were moments when she almost gave up – when a sword had almost touched her nape or an Orcish bolt missed her by a hair's breadth – but her will to survive was simply too great.

A sigh of relief escaped her when she noticed that they were finally gaining some vantage.

This split second of inattention would have been her last if she didn't turn around just in time. Pulling a knife out of its sheath, she somehow managed to cut the orc from ear to ear, almost beheading him in the process. Hot dark blood hit the side of her face and made her shudder.

"A lack of head would certainly improve their appearance," she murmured under her breath.

Jumping to the side, she pushed herself against a tree trunk and delivered a deadly blow to another orc, burying her knife in the back of its thick neck. It grunted and fell onto the ground. She landed on its back with grace and immediately dived to the side, and then rolled over, coming to her feet once more. The orc who had attacked her this time had his sword stuck in his kinsmen's armour. Instead of abandoning it and trying to kill her, he was pulling at it. Her head moved to the side. She briefly marvelled at the sheer stupidity of those creatures.

An _ellon_ riding a fine stag cut the orc's head clear off before she had time to ponder over the matter any further or kill him herself.

They looked at each other and she was momentary stunned by the shade of his eyes. She has never seen a blue so luminous before in her life. Even in the dim light of the deep forest, she could see them clearly. His gaze was frigid cold and scalding hot at the same time, and it made her shudder.

A whistle pierced the air and a bolt sank into the side of the stag. It neighed loudly, trotting in place of a short while, and then it fell onto the ground with one last pained sound. The _ellon_ was on his feet and fighting even before the animal was truly down, which was an admirable feat. He was tall – taller than most _ellyn_ she had ever encountered – and broad in shoulders, and yet he moved with such agility that he looked more like a skilled dancer than a warrior.

Distracted once again, she swallowed down a curse as she side-stepped another orc. Where they crawling from the soil now? They were too loud to sneak upon anyone, but they seemed to catch her off guard with disheartening ease. Peaceful journeys apparently had a tendency to leave her less alert than was wise.

She turned to the side just in time to avoid another blow. This fight was becoming rather tedious in her opinion. Moving back a bit, she then threw the knife, hitting her target in the eye. He staggered back a few steps before falling to the ground, already dead. Taking a hold of her knife, she pulled it out. Thankfully the eyeball stayed within the orc's head.

A telltale sound of a swordfight made her look to her right where the _ellon_ with those enchanting pale blue eyes was fighting with one of the sturdiest orcs she had seen thus far. She didn't have time to warn him of another one approaching, but he still somehow managed to turn and kill him before the creature could even blink.

It was a wrong move. When he turned back, he was a second too late. The enormous _glamhoth_ had knocked the sword out of the elf's hands and then raised his own blade. She was already halfway there when he brought it down and slashed it across the _ellon_ 's chest. Fear gripped at her heart as she saw the elf stagger backwards, holding his gloved hands to the wound, and then her fury almost blinded her as she launched herself at the orc with a cry of rage so animalistic she could hardly believe it came out of her mouth. Armed with her knife, she held his head back firmly and swipped the blade across his throat with as much strength as she could muster. The orc gurgled and then fell forward. She landed on its back in a low crouch, breathing laboriously through her nose.

Her eyes sought out the injured elf. She watched as he collapsed against a tree, his fingers digging into the front of his dark silver tunic in a futile attempted to stop the bleeding.

She dared a glance around. When she confirmed that they would be left in peace for now, she approached him, holding her hands up to show him she meant no harm.

" _Mae govannen, mellon en mellonamin._ " She put her right palm over her heart." _Im Nemireth._ "

" _Saesa… omentien… lle… Nemireth,_ " he greeted her in-between gasps, pronouncing her name with some difficulty, as it was probably foreign to him. His breathing was laboured and wet, and it was obvious that he was in great pain.

" _Do not worry. I will help you_ ," she informed him as she kneeled at his side.

After laying her knife on the ground in front of her, she pulled his hands away so she could examine the wound. She inhaled sharply when she noticed how deep it was. Blood was oozing out of it in such quantities that she could hardly believe he was still alive. She cursed under her breath and pulled her bag onto her lap in haste. She reached inside and took out a linen tunic, which she then pressed onto the cut. He hissed in pain, but didn't complain, probably aware that she was not trying to deliberately hurt him. It was all she could do for now. A healer was needed to mend such a injury. Nemireth was good with healing magic, but she had no herbs with her. Even if she did, it needed to be closed with needle and thread, and to do it, she required help – namely someone to hold the _ellon_ down while she worked.

" _Mani naa essa en lle?_ " She asked to distract him.

" _Thranduil_ ," was his short response. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deeper breath, but it only resulted in a cough. Blood coloured his lips red.

" _Don't do it. It will make it worse_." She admonished him quietly. " _Do you live here, in this forest_?"

He didn't say anything this time. His eyes were still closed and spasms went through his body every now and then, as if he had a fever.

Listening closely to the sounds of battle, she took the time to truly look at him.

Although they were mated and grime with both dirt and blood, she could still see the golden colour of his hair and she suspected they were much paler than what she could see with so little light. His skin was flushed now, but it was probably just as fair as his hair. Long lashes cast shadows upon his high cheeks and his full dark brows were furrowed. His lips, marred with blood, were parted slightly as he breathed. Clad in fine fabrics and strangely withdraw, even on the brink of death and suffering greatly, he painted a rather peculiar picture of beauty and strong will.

There had been many, both Men and Elves, who had caught her eye before with their looks, but she had neither seen nor met someone as mesmerizing until now

Something touched her neck and she shuddered involuntary.

" _Man cerig?_ "

She didn't dare to move even an inch. An angered elf was surely better than an orc, but still dangerous.

"I am trying to help. He was wounded and his injury still bleeds," she said hurriedly in Common Speech. "He requires the aid of a healer or he will die."

" _Pedil edhellen?_ "

Nemireth bristled at the aggression in his voice, but responded all the same.  
 _  
"_ _Ná, pedin edhellen_." Her voice shook slightly. " _Im Nemireth. I mean no harm_."

He withdrew his weapon and she almost cried in relief. The stress of the fight was slowly leaving her, which made her exhaustion rear its ugly head, but she was determined to not give into it yet.

" _We have no healer with us_." She heard worry and fear in his voice. It gripped her heart, making it hard to breath for a moment. " _What can we do_?"

" _I can help, but I will need herbs and someone to assist me. I cannot do it alone_."

She glanced at him and was not surprised to find him in the state of disarray. He looked frightened too, but his state of mind had nothing to do with the battle.

" _He is your lord, is he not_?" She asked and he nodded slowly. His wide eyes were looking at the wounded ellon with something akin to desperation, as if he wanted to will the injury away with his mind or take it onto himself.

" _I will do what I can, but I promise nothing_."

His eyes found hers.

He understood.


	2. Echoes of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all love exposition, don't we? Sadly, this chapter and the better part of the one following it are going to be full of what, why, where, to whom, and other what-nots. It's all necessary for the main plot though, so bear with me for a while.
> 
> As you can see, the story will be divided into "books" – two of them, to be exact – and there will be a time-skip (both in real life and in the plot line) between them. The first one will concentrate on the pre-Hobbit, Hobbit, and a-bit-after-Hobbit part of this tale, while the second will move on to LOTR and post-LOTR events. To put it simply, "Into the Woods" is going to be very, very long (19 chapter for the first book alone!)~
> 
> Anyway, I hope you will enjoy yourselves. I like hearing from you, so be nice and leave me a review, so I know what you think.
> 
> You can find the translations of Elvish words and phrases, as well as those of some characters' names, at the end of the chapter, as usual.
> 
> Cheers! ;)

**BOOK ONE: THE QUEST**

* * *

 

**CHAPTER 1.1  
Echoes of the Past**

* * *

 

 

All was quiet as she fastened her bags to the saddle and secured the sword, previously her brother’s and now hers for the keeping, so she would be able to reach for it easily if it was needed, though she highly doubted it would. She could bring more injury to herself than others with this thing anyway. Her mare, Sidhwen, remained peaceful, completely unbothered by neither the sudden awaking nor the early hour. She was long used to her lady’s habits by now. Besides she was probably the calmest horse to ever grace the vast lands of Arda and there was little that could get a raise out of her.  
  
Nemireth finished pulling the girth, securing it in place so it wouldn’t move about. Then her hands travelled slowly over the mare’s soft chestnut fur, from her side up to her neck, and she patted it there with affection.  
  
“You will be able to run today, my sweet,” she whispered. Sidhwen’s ears twitched slightly and Nemireth found herself laughing softly at the reaction. “I know. I have been longing for travel for some time as well.”  
  
“Have you truly?”  
  
She turned around in time to see Elrohir as he stepped from behind a pillar. His step was one of a hunter, not a soldier or a lord’s son, and she had always admired him for it, although his uncanny ability to sneak up on her wasn’t something she was particularly fond of.  
  
“It seems that nothing can stop you, _mellon nin_.” He said. “Will you ever stay for longer?”  
  
“I have been overstaying, I would say. I have been lurking in your father’s home for the last few years. My stay is longer than I have planned it to be already. You and I both know he would deny it, but I am a burden to him, one way or another.” She smiled. “Besides, idleness doesn’t sit well with me and you know it too.”  
  
“That I do.”  
  
Elrohir came to her side. In one swift movement he pulled her up and onto the saddle with ease that suggested she was no heavier than a feather to him.  
  
“Will you not say goodbyes to others?” He asked while she adjusted herself.  
  
When she was done, she glanced down at him, her eyes smiling along with her lips.  
  
“I did so yesterday,” she responded. “I trained with young Estel for longer than usual and then I helped your sister with her needlework. Your father had no time to spare for me, but after years of my travels I would think he has grown used to my sudden departures.”  
  
“I would not call it a goodbye.” His expression clearly showed that he disapproved, but he didn’t look keen on reprimanding her. Though they were close in age, she was still older and Elrohir admired her too much to disrespect her by questioning her further. It was not his place to ask for what she wasn’t willing to give freely. “We shall miss you.”  
  
“And I shall miss you.” She reached out and he took a hold of her outstretched hand, squeezing it gently. “Watch over the children in by absence. Especially Estel. He seems to attract trouble and your sister has an alarming tendency to follow his lead, no matter how foolish his ideas are.”  
  
“That boy is mischief incarnated,” he murmured with a frown, but his eyes were smiling. “She is a lady now, but still a child at heart, is she not?”  
  
“Or her love for this boy runs deeper than we can imagine.” The pained expression that overcame Elrohir’s face at her jest made her laugh. “ _Mellon nin_ , your feathers are too easy to ruffle.”  
  
“Do not speak about my sister’s loves. Have some mercy, for I find them hardly amusing.”  
  
Nemireth shook her head with a smile, but left the subject at that.  
  
“I should be back before autumn’s end,” she said instead. “But my travels may take me further away than I expect.”  
  
“Will you be paying someone a visit?” He inquired. She knew he did it to had at least a vague idea where she would be. If something was to happen to her, it would be easier for him to start there. It was Elrohir’s fear of loss that made him ask her the same question every time.  
  
It was also the reason why she always replied truthfully.  
  
“I haven’t seen Radagast the Brown in quite some time.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
“I will go north, to the Grey Mountains. When I’m back, I will probably work as usual. Some poor soul might decide to go on some pointless quest for all I know. The adventurers do seem incredibly fond of passing through Mirkwood for some reason.”  
  
“They say only danger lies within those woods,” he said, his expression solemn. “Be careful.”  
  
“Whenever I’m not?” She waved his worries away with an earnest smile. Her head turned and she surveyed the home she had lived in for the last few years with fondness and whispered: “I will truly miss it...”  
  
She released his hand before she changed her mind and urged Sidhwen forward with the heels of her boots.  
  
Elrohir didn’t call after her, but she felt his gaze on her back until she entered the forest.

-o-o-o-

  
Visiting Radagast was an adventure in and on itself. Although many called him insane and some suggested that the pipe he was so fond of smoking had made him lose his marbles, she found him to be a rather charming person and enjoyed his company in small doses. He was eccentric, that’s for sure, but she couldn’t overlook his caring nature and kindness.  
  
“She will be in good hands, my lady,” he said as he patted Sidhwen affectionately on the muzzle. The mare didn’t seem particularly thrilled with the gesture, if her sputter was anything to go by, but she also didn’t seem too averse to the idea of staying behind. Nemireth would have liked nothing more than to take Sidhwen with her, but Mirkwood was no place for the peaceful creature. She would also bring unwelcomed attention where it was neither wanted nor needed.  
  
In the end, the horse was a liability to her, just as much as the sword. Leaving both behind seemed like a good idea indeed.  
  
“I trust you with her, my friend,” she uttered with a smile. “I will hopefully see you soon.”  
  
With one last wave, she was on her way and soon she could no longer hear the familiar sounds that surrounded Radagast’s hut like a warm cloak. She travelled north, avoiding the parts of the forest where Beorn the Shape-shifter was rumoured to dwell on occasions. She had no desire to meet him, since he had little love for her race and she liked her head where it was – atop her shoulders and connected to her neck.  
  
It took her two days and nights to get to the Elf-path.  
  
Her journey thus far had been undisturbed, but, as most good things, the peaceful atmosphere was soon a thing of the past.  
  
A sense of déjà vu fell upon her as she observed a group of Silvan elves fight against the _ungol_ from a canopy of trees, unsure if she should aid them or flee. From her spot she could see that they were seasoned warriors, but they still seemed to struggle because of the sheer number of their opponents.  
  
She huffed in annoyance. Her life was truly bizarre.  
  
It was not too long ago that she had done the very same thing, barely a few mere years ago. Jumping right into battle back then seemed like an act of selflessness. She wasn’t so sure if doing so now wouldn’t have to be classified as utter stupidity, since she had never fought with a giant spider before. Thankfully, this time the opponents were less foul-smelling, though they were not welcomed either. The forest in this region not only felt sick, but also looked the part. It lacked the light of the sun or the soft glow of the spirits. The thick webs of spider’s nests didn’t help to dispel this image in the slightest.  
  
Fate was keen on deciding for her whether she should fight or not. She fired an arrow into the head of an _ungol_ just in time to save a life. The ginger-haired _elleth_ on the ground seemed disoriented and looked frantically around in search of the source of her saving grace.  
  
Nemireth smirked, but her amusement was short-lived.  
  
“I hate spiders”, she decided with a grimace as she slashed open the stomach of another beast, who had been trying to sneak up on her from above. Its guts hit her in the face and almost gagged at the smell, for it was almost as repelling as that of an Orc.  
  
Jumping down from the branch, she landed near her second kill. She paid the _elleth_ she had saved no mind as she threw herself into the fight with another spider.  
  
It was rather unfortunate that she wasn’t able to avoid injury. As the _ungol_ at her feet gave its last hissing breath, Nemireth, bathed in the stinking remains of many a spider, clenched her teeth and gasped her arm. It bled heavily and she could hardly move it without wincing.  
  
“ _Den rhacho 'ni núath!_ ” She mumbled in anger as she slid down the nearest tree. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her racing heart.  
  
It didn’t really surprise her that when she opened them again a moment later there were arrows pointing straight at her head. The she-elf whose life she had saved was standing three or four steps in front of her. Her green eyes were still filled with fire, as if she was ready to attack at any given moment. She was young, far younger than Nemireth, and her youth made her dangerous.  
  
She said something in Silvan Elvish, but Nemireth was not familiar with this language and she told her so in Sindar.  
  
“ _What are you doing here, trespasser?_ ”  
  
“ _I save lives_ ,” she responded with bite. The _elleth_ was getting on her nerves. It was not a proper way to treat someone who had just saved your life and it baffled her that the she-elf wasn’t aware of something so simple. Accusations aside, it was rather rude.  
  
“ _Don’t jest! Answer the question!_ ”  
  
“ _I would not antagonize her,_ ” said the only fair-haired elf of the company and Nemireth barely managed to suppress a laugh. He was very young as well and held himself in such an arrogant way that she was fairly sure she was dealing with a son of a lord. Only those tended to be so pompous.  
  
“Believe me, I’m not trying,” she said in the Common Speech rather than Sindar. “I was merely on my way north when I heard the sounds of your battle. Against my better judgement I decided to aid you and all I seem to be getting in return for my trouble are arrowheads pointed at my head as if I’m another enemy rather than an ally.”  
  
Her words seemed to placate them somehow, because a second or so later the archers lowered their bows.  
  
She hardly took note of it, since at the same time a shot of blinding pain went through her injured arm and she groaned. This seemed to rouse some semblance of long-forgotten manners in the warriors as they offered her a drink of fresh water and helped her to her feet. She swayed dangerously to the side, but the fair-haired _ellon_ managed to catch her before she hit the ground.  
  
“I will carry you,” he announced after a moment and then lifted her into his arms as if she weighted nothing. Truth be told, she was rather short for an elf and her slender build made her appear quite small in comparison to other _ellith_. “We will take you to the king.”  
  
She didn’t respond since weariness and blood loss forced her eyes to close at this point. She drifted slowly into a dreamless sleep, lulled by the gentle beat of the _ellon_ ’s heart and his quiet footsteps.

-o-o-o-

“You are doing it wrong again. It should be woven tighter and closer together. Otherwise it will only spoil the fabric.”  
  
The young girl, with long golden hair and a face still round with childish fullness, nodded slowly at her companion’s words. Her eyes traced the nibble fingers of the lady, who was seated beside her, and then she tried to repeat what she had seen, although her attempts were pitiful at best.  
  
King Thranduil observed them both with little to no interest from a nearby alcove, hidden from their sight. The deep red wine moved slowly around in his goblet as he spun it in his left hand. His other one was tracing the fine embroidery on his outer robe for some reason he neither wished nor needed to understand. His thoughts were miles away, reaching far to the Western regions of his homeland where his son was still hunting the spiders. It has been six days since he had left with their Captain of the Guard and a small troop of their warriors, but he was yet to return and so worry was filling the king’s heart like a poison. It even managed to spoil the taste of his favourite wine, which made the entire palace and all who lived there rather cautious.  
  
Thranduil’s temper tended to be much shorter when he was ill at ease.  
  
A sound of distress came out from the girl’s mouth. The king watched as she threw her sewing onto the ground in anger and then turned to face the lady next to her.  
  
“It is for naught! I am no use with needles!”  
  
“Giliel,” the lady admonished her softly before standing up. She walked over to where the handiwork of her niece laid, bend down, and picked it up careful. He saw clearly as amusement flickered across her face, the corners of his own mouth quirking slightly at the sight. Then it vanished as quickly as it appeared and the lady turned to address Giliel, her lips set into a firm line. “Don’t throw your work around. You are still young. There is yet hope for you.”  
  
“Is there really, aunt Rinil?” There was scepticism in both the girl’s eyes and voice. “I have been trying for months and I am yet to succeed. Other _ellith_ my age had managed to do it correctly at least once! And you teach them the same, do you not?”  
  
“Yes.” The smile on Rinil’s face betrayed her white lie only to Thranduil’s watchful eyes, since he knew his sister too well. “Of course I do, my dear.”  
  
In truth she had been spending much more time with her niece than the other girls, but it helped little, if at all. It seemed that his daughter was not gifted in the fine arts, just like the king had suspected, for she was equally as horrid with music, painting, and sketching, as she was with broidering.  
  
Not all ladies of the court had a need for needles, threads, graphite, paints, and instruments. Giliel was good with her bow and her hold on the sword was sure as well, and it was quite enough to satisfy him, but not enough to please others. Ladies of court were expected to have skills in what was commonly considered the expertise of their gender, not in war and woe.  
  
“Sire?”  
  
He barely managed to stop himself from flinching at the sudden intrusion, too distracted by his burdens and his daughter’s slight misfortunes to notice someone’s approach.  
  
His hands stilled. A few droplets of wine spilled over the rim of his goblet and sank into the thick sleeve of his royal blue robe. He grimaced. This was one of his finest and now it was completely ruined.  
  
“What is it, Galion?” He asked, irritation making his voice sharper than necessary.  
  
“Prince Legolas has just returned from the hunt and wishes to have a word with you, my lord,” the butler responded quietly, his head bowed lowly in a show of respect. Galion was not exactly afraid, though his body still trembled. Thranduil’s displeasure at being interrupted was clear, but he also felt somewhat lighter at the same time, as if a great weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and the king was sure that it was the later which made Galion relax a fraction.  
  
“Bring him to my study,” Thranduil said without turning to look at Galion. He handled him the goblet in dismissal and the _ellon_ walked away to pass the command to Legolas.  
  
The king’s gaze wandered once again to the ladies, but they were busy sewing once more, even if Giliel seemed less than thrilled. He would have liked to stay with them longer, enjoying their company from afar, but he was needed elsewhere. They didn’t see him depart from his spot, which was truly a blessing in disguise. Rinil would only scorn him for his needless hovering and he imagined his daughter wouldn’t be much happier with him than her aunt.  
  
He made his way to his chambers leisurely, but still managed to get there before his son.  
  
What was taking him so long?  
  
Finally, after long minutes of impatient waiting, he heard the doors open and Legolas walked in. Although covered in grime and with a stench of _ungol_ clinging to his clothes, he was still alive and the king was grateful.  
  
“ _Ada_ ,” the prince greeted him with a swift bow of his head.  
  
“ _Ionneg_ ,” Thranduil replied and reached out to lay a hand against his son’s shoulder. He squeezed it once before letting go. “What took you so long?”  
  
“The nest was full, almost overflowing with spiders. “  
  
“Deaths?”  
  
“Thankfully none on our side.”  
  
The king released a breath he wasn’t aware he has been holding. They had lost so many lives to those vile creatures it was hard to count them all. Guards, warriors, children… All stolen from the world of living by the darkness which was slowly but surely turning Greenwood the Great into what it was already being called by many – Mirkwood. Thranduil despised the name, hated the implication behind it with his very being, but he couldn’t say there was no truth in it.  
  
The forest was dark and murky indeed, far from the one he held so dearly in his memory.  
  
“Have you managed to destroy the nest?” He asked, turning his back to Legolas and walking the few steps from the centre of the study to the balcony which granted a clear view over the top of the trees.  
  
From there, everything looked still the way it had been when he had first arrived to Greenwood with his father, Oropher. The foliage, the light, and the smell of the woods were all the same. From here, he could almost pretend that there was no sickness eating away at the trees and no foul power at play.  
  
“With aid.”  
  
With a swish of his robe against the stone floor, he faced his son once again. His eyes narrowed as he studied the young _ellon_ carefully.  
  
“’With aid’,” he repeated as if the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Trespassers?”  
  
“One trespasser, _Ada_. A she-elf of Lindar heritage with keen eyes and fast hands. She has saved Tauriel’s life.”  
  
“Who is she?”  
  
“I do not know her name, but she said she was travelling north when she heard our fight and decided to join us,” Legolas said. “She seemed to take offence in our behaviour towards her, as if she expected us to extend a greeting or words of gratitude.”  
  
“And where is she now?” Thranduil inquired as he moved back to his rooms to fetch himself a glass of wine.  
  
“In the healing chambers with Lady Narie and other healers. A she-spider almost took away her arm when she fought against it. _Ungol_ venom runs through her veins. They still couldn’t tell if she would live when I left her side.”  
  
These days it was rare to see someone not only stupid enough to travel though Greenwood, but also selfless enough to risk their life for strangers. The king was sure that the _elleth_ knew how trespassers were treated in those lands and yet she still decided to join the battle with seemingly no care for her own safety. He didn’t find foolishness such as this a positive trait of character, but courage and willingness to help against all odds were entirely different. It was hard to decide if she was simply foolish or incredibly courageous for now.  
  
“Keep your sister away from the healing chambers. I do not want her near a stranger,” he instructed as he traced the rim of his still full glass with his fingers. “Let Narie know that she should inform me immediately if or when the _elleth_ awakens. I will question her myself.”  
  
“As you wish, _Ada_.” Legolas bowed and was almost at the door when Thranduil called after him with one last command.  
  
“Watch her keenly, _ionneg_. I won’t trust her till she proves her worth.”

-o-o-o-

  
Her mother’s face seemed to glow in the soft afternoon sunlight and her dark hair shone like raven’s feathers. She was beautiful in a way only a mother could be in the eyes of her child. It had little to do with her Elven blood, since all of their kind possessed fair looks, or the way she was dressed, because her clothes were plain, but it was there. The people of the nearby village said that she was like diamond among coals, shining even brighter in comparison to others, and they were right. Nemireth and her younger sister, Naerhel, couldn’t compare with their mother, although they were lovely in their own way.  
  
“Stitch it closer together, _iellig_ , or it won’t hold.”  
  
Nemireth glanced at her sister, who was as usual struggling with her needle. The three of them were sitting in the backyard of their house, enjoying the warm day and repairing clothes. It was the last time they would be able to be together like this for a long while, since both she and Naerhel were going to spend a few months in Lothlorien, invited there by their father’s oldest nephew, Haldir.  
  
He wasn’t someone you could say no to without a good reason, since he was their only family. Neither Nemireth’s father nor mother could think of a polite way to decline his invitation and so both girls were meant to start their first journey away from home this eve after an early meal.  
  
While her sister was very excited to go and couldn’t stop talking about it, Nemireth was already missing their little cottage. She didn’t want to go anywhere. Here, near Fangor’s woods and in the shade of the Misty Mountains, she felt at peace and wanted to remain there forever.  
  
Lothlorien, Lorien, Caras Galadhon and her cousin could go to hell and remain there for all she cared about them.  
  
Of course she couldn’t very well say it to her parents.  
  
When they finished their sewing, mother asked them to fetch the hairbrushes. Nemireth was the first one to return back with her brush and her mother told her to sit down in front of her. She then let down her older daughter’s dark hair, so similar in colour and texture to her own, and started to slowly brush it through, trying to untangle the knots in the long silken strands with as much gentleness as possible.  
  
“ _My dear child_ …,” someone whispered from above her, but it was not her mother’s voice she heard. “ _Calm down, all is well_.”  
  
She blinked a few times, completely unprepared for it to happen. The feeling of her mother’s soft hands in her hair disappeared and she could no longer see the vast greenery of the backyard in her childhood home. Instead there were spots of warm light against darkness, hovering somewhere above her and swaying to the sides as if moved by the wind. Her nostrils filled with the bitter smell of herbs and her ears were full of unfamiliar sounds.  
  
“ _Go back to sleep_ ,” said the voice from before. She tried to move her head to the side to see who was speaking, but she was too exhausted.  
  
Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments and she fell asleep once again.

-o-o-o-

She came to with a gasp, this time finally able to comprehend her surroundings, at least to some degree. In her foggy state of mind, she tried to sit up, but the sheering pain in her arm during the attempt was enough to let her know she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own. Falling back against the pillows, she sighed heavily.  
  
“If it wasn’t for that blasted spider…,” she murmured, annoyed with herself for being so careless and inattentive that the eight-legged beast had a chance to actually wreck some damage.  
  
Her arm hurt, her thoughts were hazy at best and she could only guess that she was somewhere in Mirkwood, which didn’t make her feel any better at all. She remembered the words of the fair-haired _ellon_ very well, as they came back to her with all the other memories from the battle against _ungol_ , and the prospect of standing before the elusive Elvenking terrified her instead of calming her down. There was no telling if it has been the warrior’s intention to frighten her, but if it was, it worked very well indeed. The tales about what the king did with those who pranced around his lands uninvited came to her with astounding clarity, making her wonder why she had ever thought it was a good idea to listen to them in the first place. It was a well-known fact that the ladies of the court loved to gossip just as much as the lords. More often than not their words were far from truth, only partially true or simply made up altogether. She had no reason to believe them and yet she did to some extent, since the warriors she aided seemed distrustful of her and one of them, the ginger-haired _elleth_ , had called her a trespasser, which proved to Nemireth that some parts of the stories were closer to being true than she wanted them to be.  
  
Wincing in a mixture of discomfort and pain, she turn to her uninjured side. As she did so, the doors, which she was now facing, opened and in walked two _ellith_ , both clad in simple dark green robes. Their red hair and sturdier build hinted at their Silvan heritage, as well as their position in the palace. They were either maids or healers, though by the looks of it the taller one was in charge, if her firm disposition was anything to go by.  
  
Their eyes widened when they noticed Nemireth and they almost dropped the armful of linen they were carrying.  
  
“You are awake!” The taller exclaimed in wonder, as if she hadn’t been expecting it at all. She turned to her companion and said to her something in Silvan Elvish to which the smaller _elleth_ nodded quickly before giving her load of linens to her superior and walking out of the room the same way she came in, if only a bit faster.  
  
Hastily putting away her burden, the other _elleth_ then came to Nemireth’s bedside and started to flutter around. She first checked the dressings on the wound with careful, gentle fingers, avoiding any direct contact with the injury and by doing so not adding to the pain Nemireth already felt. Afterwards she probed her a bit more, muttering to herself in Silvan while doing so, and then finally smiled as she looked up. It was a sort of smile which spoke of satisfaction and happiness, and it made the corners of Nemireth’s mouth twitch as well.  
  
“We thought you were lost, my dear,” the she-elf said in accented Common Speech, as she took a seat next to her bed on a low stool. “I am Lady Narie and I am the head healer. I was the one who healed you. The girl you have seen is Maerel, one of the chamber maids. We have been taking care of you for the last few days, praying to the Valars to give you back your strength.”  
  
“Thank you,” she responded. “I would surely be dead by now if it was not for your dedication.”  
  
“Oh, you would have reached the Halls of Mandos even earlier if our prince did not run through the woods as if a horde of Orcs was breathing down his neck to get you to me as quickly as possible,” the lady responded with a wink. “Never seen him in such a hurry before. Not because of some _elleth_. Or anything else, for that matter.”  
  
Nemireth could feel the heat coming to her cheeks as she blushed in what could only be described as mild embarrassment. So she had been right about the fair-haired _ellon_ – he was indeed a lord’s son, although calling his father merely a lord was apparently a huge understatement.  
  
“I will remember to thank him then,” she said, trying to think of any other subject to broach before the chamber maid returned from her errand, probably with some company. She didn’t particularly fancy a longer discussion about her own lack of wits.  
  
Thankfully Narie didn’t seem too interested in questioning her any further on the matter.  
  
“You have been asleep four nights and three days, which is quite enough. I was hoping you would wake up sometime today, actually, but I haven’t thought you would do so before dawn.” The healer glanced over her shoulder with a grimace on her face. “This insolent girl, I swear… If she went to wake the king just now, I am going to scream!”  
  
Hardly able to contain her amusement, Nemireth snorted in a very unladylike manner. Her companion didn’t seem to mind it at all. She could see a small smile playing on the healer’s lips, even though the _elleth_ was still preoccupied with glaring at the doors as if they had offended her gravely in some way.  
  
Finally, after long minutes of silence and intense staring, they heard footsteps approaching. Narie stood up and smoothed down her dress, apparently anxious that they were indeed going to have an impromptu audience with the Elvenking himself.  
  
The door opened abruptly, making Nemireth flinch, and in walked an elf clad in light armour, followed by Maerel, who was obviously not the king.  
  
The maid appeared exhausted, as if she had just finished a challenging spar. Her brow was glistering with sweat and her long red-brown hair was sticking to her exposed neck, just like her light blue dress was clinging to the rest of her body.  
  
The _ellon_ on the other hand looked completely unbothered by the entire situation. There was no trace of moisture on his face to signify his weariness. His posture, while neither nonchalant nor relaxed, was not marked by fatigue. He was regal, commanding and sure of himself, just like any elf of high standing should be.  
  
“Lady Narie, your apprentice has informed me that our guest has awoken,” he addressed the head healer, his silver hair falling over his left shoulder as he bowed shallowly.  
  
“Is that what you are now, my apprentice? That’s some news…” Narie gave the girl a pointed look to which Maerel reacted by taking a cautious step back and then bolting from the room altogether. “I apologize for her. She is too enthusiastic for her own good.”  
  
“Completely understandable, my lady,” the _ellon_ commented with a smile. “The guest?”  
  
“Oh, yes!”  
  
Narie turned around and came to help Nemireth sit, since it would have been difficult for her to talk freely while laying down. She put some addition pillows for more support and then excused herself from the infirmary, saying that she would be back shortly with some light meal and a cup of herbal tea.  
  
A rather awkward silence followed her departure. The _ellon_ was hovering at the foot of Nemireth’s bed, clearly debating if he should wait for her to ask him to take a seat or simply do so. She, on the other hand, was busy studying the features of his face, which had struck her as uncannily familiar the moment he had walked into the room.  
  
“Take a seat, my lord,” she said finally, gesturing to a stool near her bed where Narie had been sitting prior to the _ellon_ ’s arrival. He took the seat and she noticed that he was looking at her intently, as if he was trying to find something on her face, but found himself unsure what this peculiar something was specifically. “Do I have something on my face?”  
  
“Forgive me, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.” He bowed to her in the same way he did to Lady Narie. “I just cannot seem to remember where have I seen your face before, my lady, for I am quite sure we have indeed met in the past.”  
  
“I must admit that similar thoughts are going through my mind at the moment,” Nemireth said with wonder in her eyes. “I am merely a traveller, but I cross paths with many. My name is Nemireth of Rivendell, the second child of Miruinis, daughter of Mirion, and Lord Galadaer of Lorien. What is yours, my lord?”  
  
“I am Lord Galion of Greenwood and I serve the crown as the king’s butler,” was his response. His smile was wide now and reached his light green eyes, which mirrored his obvious excitement. “I do know you, my lady! I believe you are the one who had saved the life of my lord and king, Thranduil!”  
  
“Galion,” she repeated as memories of days long past when she had been kneeling on the soil of Mirkwood and praying for a miracle to happen returned to her at once. She reached out and he clasped her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “It is me, _mellon nin_ , and I’m truly happy to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations of phrases/words:  
> mellon nin - my friend  
> elleth/ellith - she-elf (singular/plural)  
> ellon/ellyn - male elf (singular/plural)  
> ungol - spider  
> Den rhacho 'ni núath! - Curse it to the shadows! (an equivalent of "Dammit to hell!")  
> Ada - father  
> ionned - my son  
> iellig - my daughter
> 
> Names:  
> Nemireth - water jewel  
> Sidhwen - peaceful lady; Nemireth's mare  
> Giliel - daughter of stars; Thranduil's daughter  
> Rinil - crowned; Thranduil's younger sister  
> Narie - June; the head healer  
> Naerhel - sad/lamentable maiden; Nemireth's younger sister  
> Miluinins - lovable bride; Nemireth's mother  
> Galadaer - husband of light; Nemireth's father


	3. Pot Calling Kettle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the delay. The last scene proved to be incredibly difficult to write, but at least you are getting a slightly longer chapter as a reward for your patience :)  
> This is the last filer chapter before the real fun begins, but I hope you won’t mind too much, since I have put quite a lot of important information into it. Besides, Thranduil and Nemireth are finally going to meet each other, so it is certainly worth a read, I assure you, since our favourite king is up to no good… ;)  
> Please, remember to leave a comment! I love hearing for you and your comments make me really happy, no matter how short they are.  
> Enjoy the madness ;)

* * *

**CHAPTER 1.2  
Pot Calling Kettle**

* * *

 

  
It took days for the wretched _elleth_ to finally awake, but even then Thranduil could not question her, which wasn’t due to lack of trying to do so on his part, but rather the persistence and utter stubbornness of Lady Narie. The head healer had absolutely refused to listen to anything her king told her, claiming that she knew better than he did what was good for her patient. As much as it infuriated him, he couldn’t actually disagree with her and so he waited, losing the last bits of his patience with each passing day.  
  
Narie might have always been unusually defiant and head-strong for someone of her station, but she also had years of experience and knowledge in the healing arts that Thranduil lacked, for all his wisdom. She was also one of the oldest elves in his service, since she had been the healer of King Oropher, even before Thranduil was born. The fact that he would trust her with both his and his children’s lives helped her cause as well.  
  
So, for the better part of the next couple of days following the she-elf’s brush with death, he left her alone to heal and recover in some semblance of peace.  
  
She stayed mostly within the healing chambers anyway, so there was no need to fret needlessly over the matter of security and, if she left, she was too weak to do so on her own and Lady Narie seemed more than happy to accompany her wherever the _elleth_ desired to go. Legolas followed them like a shadow, ever watchful of their guest, but he had yet to report anything suspicious apart from the strange fondness she seemed to have for the king’s own butler, Galion, which the elf in question seemed to return. When asked, the _ellon_ had vaguely replied that they had met before and their previous encounter was of such nature that they could not parted ways without becoming friends.  
  
Thranduil did not believe it was the entire story, but referred from inquiring further, knowing well that if Galion had a secret to keep, not even the Valars would have been able to pry it from him, no matter how hard they tried, if he was not willing to share it.  
  
For now the king simply needed to put some trust into his most faithful subjects and see what future would bring, whether it was going to be pleasant or not.  
  
An exercise in patience was only that – an exercise – and in the end he would still get the answers he sought.  
  
One way or another. Sooner or later.  
  
He could wait.

-o-o-o-

Gossips, Nemireth had learnt a long time ago, had an astounding tendency to travel fast, especially when they fell from the lips of court ladies or those of soldiers. Although not an expert in the matter by any means, since she had never been the kind to spread half-lies or succumb to their allure herself, she knew very well how those beautifully crafted words could hurt if spoken with ill intent. They had a tendency to wreck havoc and she was not the type of person to yearn for trouble in search of entertainment. There were activities that much better suited her character and interests, so she left silver tongues and plays at pretence to those who cared for deceit and mind games, content with the simplicity that only true honesty could offer.  
  
Right now, in the very heart of a fortified palace, she inwardly lamented her stupidity. She had escaped the court life in Rivendell, but she could not run from it here – both literally and figuratively speaking.  
  
Her injury was healing well, but the process was slow and painful, making her prone to dizziness and occasional fainting. She was slowly gaining back her strength though, which was more than enough, all things considered. No matter how long it would take her to be fully herself again, it was still better than death.  
  
Sadly, the fact that she could barely move about without help and at a snail’s pace when aided, made her all the more interesting to the eyes of those she passed by during her short walks with Lady Narie. Her black hair, so unlike the light locks of the Sindar or the fiery ones of their Silvan subjects, would make her stand out as it was, but paired with other oddities, such as the constant company of the head healer or the uneasiness of her steps, they almost seemed to scream for attention.  
  
There was also the small matter of her encounter with who she had discovered only recently was one of the best guard divisions in the Woodland Realm. She had helped them in their fight, probably saving a few lives by accident, and so the tales about her skills had started to spread through the caverns of the King’s Halls like wildfire the moment she arrived there in the arms of Prince Legolas. They had reached her ears on her second day back in the land of living and she had only snorted in mild amusement at the obvious exaggerations, for she was no great warrior and she knew it well.  
  
She looked down onto her lap where her favourite silver needle, strung with a delicate thin white thread, rested against the rich royal blue of a tunic Lady Narie was kind enough to let her work on this afternoon. Her injured arm was already arching with fatigue, which was part of the reason why she had decided to take a break.  
  
A smile stretched across her lips as she took another look around the beautiful herbal garden, taking in the lush colours of the plants and thoughtfully enjoying the sense of serenity that helped her relax. The garden was located in the higher levels of the fortress, well above the healing chambers, which allowed in fresh air and sunlight through large oculi in the stone ceiling. As Narie had explained, an enchantment of their king’s doing was keeping the place alive and in full bloom even now, when summer was a breath away from turning into autumn. The warmth and abundance of life weren’t the only merits of the elaborate spell. It also kept the dark creatures away from those they could harm, as light and good magic tended to do.  
  
Nemireth’s thoughts travelled to the king. She couldn’t help but think that for all his isolationist doctrine, suspicious nature and rumoured temper, among other shortcomings, he seemed to be all in all a good ruler, aiming to protect his people against all costs.  
  
Mirkwood was unlike any other Elven kingdom. It was certainly not like Rivendell, the Last Homely House, or Lorien, the forest of dreams and light. These woods were full of great fear and all-consuming darkness; they were also full of nightmares and decay, and there was nothing poetic about its ruin. In a way, it was only fitting for its king to be how he was, even if he wasn’t most likely as cold and vicious as some described him.  
  
Since she had learnt the truth from Galion, she tried to comprehend how this fearsome king could be the same _ellon_ she had saved. The dissonance between those two images of the same being made her realize that the stories probably did him little justice, but they also served their hidden purpose – they kept strangers away.  
  
She recalled with little difficulty the image of his face from that day when he had laid before her in delirium, with one leg already in the Halls of Mandos, and pondered how strange was it going to be to see him again, in such a different setting and changed circumstances.  
  
How did he look when he was angry? Were his eyes set ablaze by his fury like those of her dear cousin Haldir or where they cold like those of her late father, almost frigid enough to freeze her soul? Did he furrow his brow, like Lord Elrond? Did he tend to set his lips in a tight line, as if he was trying to force himself into silence, or was he the type to yell and rage? And what about his happiness? Did he ever smile? If he did, was his smile similar to Elrohir’s, warm and welcoming like the first rays of sunshine in the morning? Was it dimpled? Did it reach his eyes, making them glow in a way so unlike the one she had see during their first encounter, but still just as enchanting?  
  
Deep in her thoughts, she didn’t hear someone approach her from behind, so she yelped in fright when he suddenly laid a hand upon her shoulder.  
  
“Forgive me, _mellon nin_ ,” said a voice she instantly recognized. “I did not mean to startle you.”  
  
“It’s quite alright, Galion,” she responded after taking a deep breath to calm her frantically beating heart. “It is partially my fault for getting too lost in thought. I should pay more attention to my surroundings.”  
  
“All the same.” When he moved from the side and stepped in front of her, she could see him smile. He gestured to the empty space beside her on the only bench in the entire garden, which had been place here on Narie’s request earlier this morning. “May I?”  
  
“Yes, of course.”  
  
She shifted a bit to make more room for him, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary. Although Galion was very tall, he was also lean and his shoulders were quite narrow. Dressed simply in a dark silver tunic, black britches and soft leather boots, and without the light armour he usually wore , he looked rather small. He was obviously not cut to be a warrior, though not many elves truly were.  
  
In the past days they had exchanged a few words here and there, all in Common Speech that Galion was very fluent in now. He made it his duty to pay her at least one visit a day, even if it was short and brief. They haven’t had a chance to truly talk yet, mostly because he was very busy, but the constant presence of chamber maids, healers or Lady Narie had also played a part. If there was one thing Nemireth wanted to avoid during her stay in the King’s Halls, it would have to be another stream of gossips about her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of attention she would get if anyone found out the circumstances of her first meeting with the king’s butler.  
  
“You are very talented,” Galion said after a moment of silence, reaching out for her needlework and then examining it closely, when she put it carefully in his hands. “It looks marvellous. ”  
  
“Thank you.” A small pleased smile appeared on her face at his honest praise. “Lady Narie decided to let me do something for a change and I wanted to help, so she let me do it for her, but I’m afraid I’m still too weak to do much. My hands are already tired.”  
  
“I’m sure you will have plenty of time to finish it. You shouldn’t overexert yourself.” He returned the partially embroidered fabric to her. “Besides, I know that you can do much better, although I have not seen you saw a fabric before.”  
  
“Living flesh is different,” she agreed, sensing the subtle change in their conversation. He obviously didn’t come to her to exchange pleasantries as he had done before.  
  
They were quiet for a while. Nemireth went back to broidering, determined to at least finish one more detail before the day’s end, even if her quivering arm was making it quite a challenge to pull the thread properly at all times. From the corner of her eye she observed Galion, whose shoulders were tense in anticipation of what was to come. He was feigning interest in the garden, his eyes roaming slowly over their surroundings in a deliberate attempt to postpone their inevitable conversation, but she wasn’t going to rush him. Giving him time to sort his thoughts was the best course of action she could think of. If he noticed her slightly inquisitive looks every now and then, he did not comment on them.  
  
“I do not believe the king remembers you, my lady.”  
  
She paused and looked up to his face as he spoke at last, noting the apprehensiveness of his expression. The source of his uncharacteristic unease was unclear to her, since she had already suspected what he had said.  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Truth be told, I did not expect much else,” she admitted, returning to work. “He was delirious and in great pain. The circumstances were hardly in favour of proper introductions, _mellon nin_.”  
  
“I know,” he acknowledged. “But it makes his message to you very strange indeed.”  
  
Almost prickling her finger at the sudden announcement, she decided to forego her sewing and directed her full attention to Galion.  
  
“A message?” She repeated. “What message do you speak of?”  
  
“An invitation to dine with him this eve. He had sent me to ask.”  
  
There was something in the way he said it that suggested it was not in fact an invitation, but an order. While Nemireth was not one of his subjects to do with as he pleased, she was his guest and a refusal was absolutely out of the question. Back in the forest, she had heard the prince’s words and so she had been aware a day would come when the king would summon her for questioning, but she had never imagined he would try to hide his intensions under a pretence of an evening meal. A aura of sudden anxiousness settled on her shoulders, making her shudder. It seemed to pulse around her like living thing with a myriad of emotions and questions not yet vocalized.  
  
As if sensing her change in mood, Galion gently laid his right hand on her left one.  
  
“I am sure my lord and king means no harm. He only wishes to speak with you and ask questions, but Lady Narie would not agree to an audience in front of the court.” His smile was reassuring, though it did little to calm her down. “I would say he is as determined to have a word with you, my lady, as the head healer is adamant to keep you away from him.”  
  
She could help but smile at that. Narie was apparently no different with her patients and her king – spirited, stubborn, and ready to speak her mind.  
  
“I will go,” she said after a moment. “Did the king mentioned an hour?”  
  
“He usually dines before the sun sets,” Galion supplied. “I will escort you there, if it’s alright.”  
  
“Of course, _mellon nin_.” Nemireth smirked. “How else would I even be able to find the dining hall?”  
  
“That would surely be quite entertaining to watch,” was his response and she felt a bit more at ease, although her heart was still pounding inside her chest, resembling a trapped bird that was fighting desperately for its freedom. She was trapped here, in those caverns deep in the ground, and the only reason why she was still roaming the halls instead of rotting in the dungeons was because she had saved that red-haired _elleth_. No matter what Galion wanted her to believe about his lord, she had yet to meet the great Elvenking and learn for herself how far his hospitality went.  
  
“I am sorry, but I need to excuse myself. My other duties require my presence elsewhere. I will see you at dawn.” Galion stood up and bowed to her, before giving her one last smile and walking away. He disappeared behind one of the bushes not a moment later, leaving her alone with a medley of thoughts running rampant inside her weary head.

-o-o-o-

  
After parting her ways with Galion, she had no further desire to remain in the garden. The healing chambers weren’t close by, but she knew the way well enough and so she decided to walk there by herself without waiting for Lady Narie to come and fetch her.  
  
When she arrived to the room she had been staying in for the last couple of days, she was surprised to find Maerel, the chamber maid assigned to her, hard at work as she folded Nemireth’s clothes and put them into a wicker basket that laid at the foot of the bed. The mattress was bare of linens and the only things left atop of it were a thin woollen blanket she has never seen before and a pillow. Her personal belongings were gone from the little bedside table. Her bag and weapon were nowhere to be found as well.  
  
“Is something the matter?” She asked cautiously as she approached Maerel, wary of the girl’s tendency to get easily frightened by the strangest of things. One would suspect that being an elf would mean she was less jumpy than an average human, but it was quite the opposite. It seemed that the lightness of foot of their kin only succeeded in putting her further on edge as she was thus unable to hear anyone approach and tended to scream bloody murder if someone inadvertently sneaked up on her.  
  
“Oh, Lady Nemireth!” Maerel turned to greet her with a deep curtsey, clutching one of Nemireth’s tunics to her chest. “I thought I would be meeting with you in your chambers at a later time! Lady Narie said she would show you the way…”  
  
“My chambers?” She repeated doubtfully, not quite sure if she heard the girl right.  
  
“Aye. The king ordered for you to be moved to the guest wing. The quarters are ready, but I still needed to come here to fetch your clothing. Your other belongings have already been moved,” the maid replied with an earnest smile. “Would you like me to show you the way when I’m done?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” she agreed after a momentary pause. “Should I help you with those then so we can be on our way sooner rather than later?”  
  
Without waiting for the maid’s answer, she took a hold of one of the simple cotton dresses she had been given to wear during the time of her recovery and started to fold it. She needed to get her hands occupied with something, because otherwise she feared she would have combusted with enough nervous energy to share with an entire contingent of guards. Her suspicion of the motives behind the impromptu invitation to dinner only grew now that she knew there was more to it. The order to move her away from the healing chambers had probably something to do with the argument Lady Narie had had with the king, since no ruler found defiance a formidable character trait and she imagined that Thranduil was no different in that aspect. He was trying to play with her, she was quite sure of it, although she had yet to learn the rules of the game.  
  
Apparently it was not enough that someone was following her around like a shadow, making her feel like some sort of common criminal that needed to be watched lest she decided to commit another crime.  
  
Either the king was way too curious for his own good or his paranoia knew no boundaries. For some reason, Nemireth was starting to think that it was indeed the later, which put her on edge. A disturbed mind of a monarch who, as it was, could probably throw he into jail and have her executed at any given moment was the last thing she needed.  
  
Mind and body exhausted after a long day, she wished for nothing more than a warm bed and a cup of tea. Alas, it was not meant to be. After they folded the last pieces of Nemireth’s clothing, Maerel lifted the basket into her arms and instructed Nemireth to follow her lead as she walked out of the healing chambers. They made their way up a long flight of stairs before arriving at the ground level of the fortress where the main gate was located. To Nemireth’s eternal surprise, they were hardly done with walking. They continued to move upwards, seeing as the guest wing was located in the upper part of the King’s Halls, so that the occasionally visiting diplomats and lords who stayed there could enjoy a nice view of the forest. She had thought that the chamber she would be staying in was going to be rather plain, not unlike her previous accommodation in the infirmary.  
  
The king was evidently trying to prove her wrong in every possible aspect and throw her a bit off in the process if he could manage it without raising suspicion, for the quarters she had been given consisted of not one, but multiple vast chambers. They were truly a thing of beauty and the enormous soft bed, elegant furniture, and a truly breathtaking view only made them that much more imposing.  
  
“Surely it is a mistake…,” she murmured in disbelief, looking around in a daze.  
  
Her eyes were wide as saucers as she slowly surveyed her surroundings with complete astonishment. She took note of the fine fabrics of the linens, the subtle sheen of the marble floor, and the small details of the elaborate carving in the walls that gave the illusion that she was surrounded by trees instead of stone, and decided silently that no matter what game Thranduil was playing, she was going to best him at it even if it was going to be the last thing she ever accomplished. It was not as if he was the only one who could play dirty, after all.  
  
“Are you sure those are my chambers?” She turned to Maerel, who has already put the basket away and was now smoothing a silken gown in a deep shade of blue on the covers of the bed.  
  
“Oh yes, I am quite sure,” the girl responded. “I was there when the king gave the order. Those are one of the most beautiful chambers you will find in this realm. And those beyond, if what I’m told is to be believed. I would say the king holds you in great esteem, my lady, if he had deemed you fit to take residence here.”  
  
Somehow Nemireth highly doubted that was indeed the case, but she refrained from commenting on it.  
  
“I presume the gown is for me?” She asked instead as she walked over to the bed and reached out to touch the exquisite piece of clothing that felt like water against her fingers. “For the occasion of tonight’s dinner?”  
  
“Yes,” Maerel answered just as someone knocked on the door. She moved there to open it, letting in a few menservants who were carrying a bucket of steaming water each. They walked with them behind a long screen, which hid a bathtub, and poured the water into the tub one by one. When they were done, they bid Nemireth a good day with low bows before excusing themselves to attend to their other duties.  
  
Maerel was kind enough to help Nemireth undress and then bath. She rubbed her back, scrubbed at her limbs and washed her dark hair, all the way talking about something or the other. Her chatter was quite welcomed though, as it distracted Nemireth from what was to come.  
  
Loathe to admit it as she was, she couldn’t deny that the attention of the Elvenking was making her queasy. He was by no means a welcoming host, very unlike Lord Elrond or the Lady Galadriel, and yet he was showering her with luxuries beyond measure. There was an unsettling amount of ambivalence to his actions, as generous as they would seem to someone else’s eyes. She wanted nothing more than to simply leave him hanging with all his inquires and assumptions for the time being just to grate on his nerves . Sadly, she was unable to do it and was instead forced to do what he wanted in hopes of understanding his motives.  
  
After the bath, the maid dried her before helping her into a set of thin undergarments. She then seated Nemireth on a chair in front of a vanity and proceeded to comb through the _elleth_ ’s thick dark locks with utmost care.  
  
“Would you like me to braid it or leave it as it is?” She asked, locking her eyes with Nemireth’s in the mirror. “I think that the silver circlet would look quite nice with braids, my lady, but it is your decision, of course.”  
  
Nemireth refrained from asking what silver circlet, because she could see the offending object laying innocently on a velvet pillow in the centre of the dressing table. She wasn’t keen on wearing jewellery, although she could admire the beauty of it. Then again she was a lady, even if she would rather forget about the title, and it was only proper to wear something befitting of her status to a meeting with a king. In the end, the circlet was modest enough for her tastes and didn’t look nearly as extravagant as the ones her dear cousins insisted she should wear when she visited them in Lorien.  
  
“Braid them then,” she said with a nod. “Nothing too fancy though.”  
  
“Of course, my lady!”  
  
The girl worked fast, apparently accustomed to braiding someone’s hair and well-versed in the art of it, and did exactly as requested of her. After much pulling and tugging, she was done and her handiwork was truly beautiful, although simple. Nemireth wasn’t vain by any means, but she had to admit that with that hairstyle and with the circlet upon her head she actually looked like a proper lady. When she put on the dress, the effect was even more powerful and she thought with a rueful smile that none of her friends back in Imlardis or Lorien would have been able to recognize her now. She might have been born a lady, but her heart was wild and her spirit free, and it reflected in the way she usually dressed, as she much preferred men’s clothing over gowns and dresses.  
  
“You look like a queen, my lady,” Maerel said quietly as she smoothed some nonexistent wrinkles on the skirts of the dress.  
  
“I do feel like one as well,” was Nemireth’s soft response as she walked across the room to the balcony and stepped outside into the warm late summer air.  
  
The sun was slowly making its way across the darkening sky, bringing her closer and closer to her meeting with the king. Golden rays of sunlight painted the trees in deep colours of autumn, which was swiftly approaching, and made the woods look like they did only a few decades ago, full of life and magic. She remembered that time when she had first travelled East to see Greenwood the Great as a young _elleth_ of barely one thousand and how utterly stunned she had been at its unparallel beauty. Not even the Golden Woods of Lorien stood a chance in comparison to its splendour back then. The ruin of those lands pained those who lived there greatly and Nemireth could understand that pain, for she shared it and felt it deep within her aching heart.  
  
She did not like the way in which the king was treating her even before they officially met and she felt sickened by his trickery, but at the same time she found herself understanding him a bit more as she gazed upon what was once a reality and now could only be called a fleeting dream.  
  
Bathed in the warm afternoon light and awaiting Galion’s imminent arrival, she muttered a silent prayer to the Valars, asking them for their guidance and care in the face of what was to come.

-o-o-o-

Nemireth didn’t know how long she had stayed on the balcony, but the sun was barely visible, half-hidden behind the foliage, when she finally came to herself again. Maerel was nowhere to be found, as she had left a while ago to take her lady’s clothes to be cleaned and then to attend to her other responsibilities, as she was also an eager apprentice of Lady Narie and need to be present in the healing chambers for her evening lessons. For the last few days Nemireth had played witness to them, thoughtfully enjoying the distraction they provided. She was greatly saddened by the fact that she would be unable to be a part of them now, since she was quite sure the upcoming dinner with the king was the first of many attractions she would be forced to join in now. She had grown up in Rohan, far away from any Elven realm, and her life had been simple until the death of her parents. Then she was forced to live with her father’s kin in Lorien, which didn’t sit well with her, as she was  
quite unlike the ladies of Caras Galadhon with their golden locks and melancholic smiles. It seemed though that life had a way of showing her that she might have benefited a little from the lessons of etiquette and other such things, which she had abhorred in her youth to instead play with swords and bows with her younger cousins, Rumil and Orophin.  
  
A sigh escaped her lips as she walked back into the main chamber of her quarters, rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm herself. It was colder outside than she suspected it would be. The dress she was wearing was hardly appropriate for such temperatures as it was made of fine embroidered silk.  
  
Someone had come in to lit the fire and so the chamber was warm, bathed in the glow of the raging flames. It was a very inviting sight. She was contemplating picking up a book and curling up with it in a settee in front of the fireplace, when there was a knock at the door.  
  
“Enter,” she called with a grimace of displeasure as she glanced with longing at the bookshelf on the other side of the room which was heavy with books she could have been reading right now.  
  
She had known it would be Galion even before the door opened to reveal him. He was dressed in his usual light armour and had a look about him that probably made many _elleth_ sigh in appreciation. The honesty behind his smile when he locked his eyes with hers made her smile in return, even though she had little reason to be happy.  
  
“The kings awaits you, my lady.”  
  
“Let’s not make him wait for long then,” was her response as she walked to him and took his offered arm. One of the guards stationed at her door closed them behind her before resuming his post. She inclined her head to him in silent gratitude and he responded with a bow, his expression unreadable.  
  
She let Galion lead her through a maze of corridors as they moved up and down, and then up again. For a while she was sure they were lost, as every place looked almost the same to her, but her companion was sure in his steps and, when they finally reached they destination, he seemed to be quite aware of the consternation.  
  
“I will arrange for someone to be ready to escort you back to your rooms after your meal,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.  
  
Her huff of annoyance at his words made him chuckle. With a shake of his head, he pushed the left wing of the double doors open and motioned for her to go first.  
  
“Lady Nemireth is here, my king,” he called as he walked into the dining hall two steps behind her.  
  
Nemireth’s eyes were wide with astonishment as she surveyed her surroundings. She briefly wondered if everything in this kingdom was so enormous or was it only her impression. The dining hall they were currently in could probably host the whole of Rivendell and still have enough room left for those who would have liked to share a dance. She couldn’t understand why they needed to dine in here, when there was only going to be the two of them, but the king was still apparently trying to render her speechless and, sadly, it was still working.  
  
“Call for the meal to be brought in and leave us.”  
  
The voice was deep and smooth, completely unfamiliar to her and yet strangely soothing in the most bizarre of ways.  
  
Galion bowed and, after giving her one last look, left the room. For a moment she was sorely tempted to go after him, unwilling to stay alone with the owner of that silken voice. Alas, she had little choice but to stay where she was, so she braced herself for what was to come. When she heard a quiet swish of fabric as it moved against the stone floor, she turned to seek out the source of it and her eyes immediately fell upon the impressive figure of King Thranduil as he walked across the hall, passing her without a word on his way to the lone table to her right.  
  
A crown adorned his head. It was wooden and beautifully crafted, decorated with colourful summer flowers and small green leaves. His robes were rich in both colour and fabric, the midnight blue of the silk brocade making his pale eyes stand out against any other of his fine features. The embroidery at the collar of the robe and the seam of his long silver cape was truly exquisite, curling and swirling about in a manner that reminded her of the wind. Whoever did it, was very talented and well trained, for it took nibble fingers and great skill to achieve such fluidity in a design as complicated as this one. His features were just like she remembered. His hair was indeed paler in colour than it appeared when she had first truly laid her eyes on him. It was also very long, reaching well past his shoulder blades, and curling slightly at the ends. When he turned to face her fully, she was immediately captivated by his eyes, which still resembled starlight in both their unusual light silvery-blue colour and their otherworldly glow. He did not change in those few years that had passed – not that she really expected it – and she briefly thought that it was quite unfair for an _ellon_ to be so gorgeous, for the lack of a better word.  
  
She knew he was dangerous even before coming here, but now she realized that the danger didn’t lay solely in his cunning ways and his brilliant mind. She remembered clearly the first time she had laid her eyes upon him in the heat of the battle and how her heart had thundered in her chest back then, when he had looked at her with untold intensity behind his gaze. Nemireth wasn’t one to be easily distracted by a handsome face, but Thranduil was far beyond handsome and his wicked good looks were working in his favour.  
  
“ _'Quel undome, hir vuin_ ,” she said. Her face was warm with a blush as she lowered herself into a curtsey to show her respect, though her eyes were still locked with his.  
  
“ _Good evening indeed_ ,” he responded with after a moment of silence, his expression void of any emotion, though he did inclined his head in acknowledgement. His gaze swept swiftly over her, taking note of the details of her grab and lingering in places that made blush even more.  
  
She was sure in that moment as the corners of his mouth lifted into a knowing smirk that this was going to be the longest and most aggravating meal of her life.  
  
The servants had a great timing, since they brought in the food before either Nemireth or the king could say anything else.  
  
They took their seats in silence and busied themselves with their dinner for a while, ignoring each other in the process. The presence of the servants who fluttered in and out of the dining hall, bringing more food and drink as they went, made any conversation quite impossible. Not that Nemireth truly wanted to have an opportunity to talk with the king. She found herself wishing that she wouldn’t be forced to do it, but Valars had other plans for her, it seemed, for the hall cleared soon enough and the king turned slightly in his seat to level her with his steady cold gaze.  
  
“Are the quarters to your liking?” He asked as he took a bowl of grapes into his left hand and then plucked one of the fruits, rolling it between his ringed fingers lazily before putting into his mouth.  
  
“Very much so, my lord,” she responded, trying to pry her eyes away from his hands and look back to his face. She was fairly certain he was doing this on purpose to distract her. Anger coiled in the pit of her stomach at the thought that he would think her so superficial as to completely lose herself simply because he was attractive. She suspected it had been a case quite often, if his arrogance was anything to go by. While he was beautiful and she could admire that beauty or even become slightly intimidated by it, she absolutely refused to be swayed by it. “Your fortress is a thing of beauty, but those rooms are truly magnificent. The view from the balcony is something I’ve enjoyed the most thus far. It took my breath away.”  
  
“Ah, yes. The view is quite lovely, especially this time of year.”  
  
“Possibly, my lord.” She took a sip of her wine. “But I would say that it is spring which suits Greenwood best.”  
  
Something flashed through the king’s eyes at her statement and she realized with an inward cringe that she had just unwittingly admitted to travelling through his lands without permission on more than one occasion.  
  
“My father took me to these lands when I reached one thousand, “ she explained herself calmly, hoping against hope that he did not took notice of her fleeting moment of distress. “He was of the opinion that every elf should know the lands of our people.”  
  
“How long ago was it?”  
  
“I believe your father, King Oropher, was still ruling over Greenwood at the time, _hir vuin_.” His eyes widened slightly at the revelation and she fought back a smirk. He had obviously thought her to be a mere elfling, not older than a few centuries. “I have never seen a forest more beautiful and enchanting in my life.”  
  
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he scoffed as he helped himself to some sweet bread.  
  
Her eyes narrowed.  
  
“I was merely stating a fact.”  
  
The look he gave her begged to differ. She did not want to argue with him about the matter, since she suspected that it would only succeeded in making him angry. As much as the prospect appealed to her, she was well aware that it would hardly help her. She needed to gain his trust and the only way to do it was to keep quiet for the time being.  
  
“Galion mentioned that you hail from Imlardis,” the king changed the subject abruptly. Something in his voice told her that the news did not please him in the slightest.  
  
“My mother came from the Valley,” she admitted airily, pushing the salad on her plate around without any intention to eat it. It contained nuts, which she did not notice until she had already served herself a few spoonfuls of it. “My father was an Elven Lord of Lorien. He was an advisor of King Amroth and then Lord Celeborn. I feel equally at home it both lands.”  
  
Which wasn’t saying much, since neither was truly her home, but he didn’t need to know that.  
  
“Ah, yes. Lord Galadaer. I have met him briefly on a few occasions,” he acknowledged. It was hard to gather if his opinion of her father was favourable or not, though the way his lips twisted slightly downwards pointed to the later. “What had become of him, I wonder?”  
  
“He died,” was the only response she was willing to give. The death of her parents and older brother was not something she wished discuss.  
  
“My condolences,” he said, though his words were empty and held no compassion for her pain at all.  
  
She was sorely tempted to ask if there was one person he did not have a problem with, a person he actually cared about, but managed to stop herself from doing so just in time. Nothing and no one seemed to be good enough for the Elvenking and the notion grated on her nerves, especially when he so bluntly disregarded her father for some unfathomable reason.  
  
Silence once again fell between them and Nemireth was glad that it did. If she had any choice in the matter, she would have been more than happy to leave already. After hearing Galion’s suspicions, she had been tempted to simply tell the king who she was, but now it was becoming quite clear that he probably wouldn’t have believed her, if he had been willing to listen to her at all. His prejudices clouded his mind. It would take a miracle to make him see reason and she was not a Valar to attempt such a thing.  
  
“Have you ever returned to Greenwood afterwards?” He inquired when they were mostly done with their meal and were each enjoying a pieces of an exquisite blueberry pie. Apparently he was unwilling to let her go without getting what he wanted from her. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting to anything.  
  
“No,” she answered simply, looking straight into his eyes.  
  
Nemireth jumped in her seat when his hand suddenly hit the table with enough force to make everything on it rattle loudly.  
  
“Lair!” He spat her, his eyes flashing dangerously as he rose from his seat and advanced on her. He stopped a mere step away from her, enveloping her in his shadow. “Do you think me a fool, _elleth_?”  
  
“No.” Her voice was calm, even though she felt anything but. For a second she was afraid that he was going to strike her as cold fury sharpened his features. He had obviously seen through this lie as well. While she didn’t consider him a fool, his actions were indeed rather foolish. Honest by nature and usually prone to speaking her mind without a care in the world, she valued her life too much to give into temptation of say what exactly she thought about him. He looked like a wild animal, ready to attack at any given moment, and she had no intention of being strangled for her imprudence just yet.  
  
She stood up with caution and backed away from the table slowly, her gaze trained to the rigid form of King Thranduil. He didn’t move after her, but he was watching her keenly. When she was almost at the door, she bowed shallowly before turning around and was about to leave – or rather flee – when he spoke again.  
  
“I have not bid you leave.”  
  
Nemireth froze with her hand on the door, ready to pull at any given moment.  
  
“I was not asking for your permission, my lord. “ She could only imagine the scowl on his face when she said it.  
  
“You are quite obstinate and defiant, are you not?”  
  
She glanced at him over her shoulder with a small smile. His face was indeed twisted in an expression of displeasure, which somehow didn’t make him look any less handsome. She wondered briefly if she was actually right in the head for still admiring his beauty after everything that had just transpired between them and decided she didn’t really want to know the answer.  
  
“Men are fond of a saying that I find particularly suitable in this situation.”  
  
“And what is it, prey tell?” He asked, one eyebrow lifted in a rather mocking manner as if he doubted anything said by the race of Men could be of relevance.  
  
“A pot calling the kettle black.”  
  
With those words as the only goodbye she was willing to offer, she walked out of the dining hall as fast as she could, leaving a slightly baffled king in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> elleth – female elf  
> ellon – male elf  
> mellon nin – my friend  
> 'Quel undome, hir vuin – Good evening, my lord

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Iuitho vegyl lîn – Draw you swords  
> Gurth gothrim lye – Death to our foes  
> Mae govannen, mellon en mellonamin – Well met, friend of my friend  
> Im Nemireth – I'm Nemireth  
> Saesa omentien lle, Nemireth – It is a pleasure to meet you, Nemireth  
> Mani naa essa en lle – What is your name  
> Man cerig – What are you doing  
> Pedil edhellen – Do you speak Elvish  
> Ná, pedin edhellen – Yes, I speak Elvish  
> ellon/ellyn – male elf/elves  
> glamhoth – orc


End file.
